LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~

Friday, January 19, 2007

Have Morey and his friends at long last found Utopia -- for real? Read our latest installment under "comments"~ (Photo by Beth Javens)

9 Comments:

Anonymous said...: Once again the evil Sade is playing big, bad games with Morey and his buddies. Now they're stuck in a place called "Canine Haven" and being hunted down like, uhm, well, dogs...because Morey is not a pure breed...

"Canine Haven," snarled Dr. Daisy. "What a great name for a horrid place! We've been hiding in this cold, damp cave for the better part of two days. We don't have any food, not even a warm blanket to sleep on."

She cast a baleful glance in Morey's direction.

"And you think we ought to be glad we're no longer in All Pink Corn! SNIFF."

"At least the bloodhounds they had out after us gave up and went home," said Woodrow, trying to look on the bright side. "I heard the lead dog say -- 'Hey! My feet are wet' -- and that was that."

Morey nodded. "Dogs sure are treated like they're special around here, and can you believe LuLu? We used to be such good friends. Ah, well. Frailty, thy name is beagle, I guess."

Dr. Daisy bristled. "Exactly what do you mean?" she demanded. "Just because one little bitch treats you like desiccated squirrel intestines, you take it for granted that we're all the same?"

Morey cocked a hairy eyebrow. "I hate to remind you of this, Daze, but back in All Pink Corn, you did have me thrown into a prison cell, and because of you, I almost died on the beach."

"You're a bowlegged liar!" she growled. "I would never do anything so mean and nasty to anyone."

"It's all right, Daisy," Woodrow assured her. "What happened between you and Morey back in All Pink Corn happened in another dimension, and we're in the same stew all over again, except now we're in a place called 'Canine Haven,' and no closer to home."

"This makes no sense," said Dr. Daisy.

"I'm sure it does," Morey told her. "We just haven't figured it out yet."

She yawned and stretched. "Well, we can't stay in this cave forever."

"I have a suggestion," said Woodrow, looking somewhat sheepish for a bulldog. "Morey, I know I dog-in-the-mangered you back in All Pink Corn, but if you'll give me a chance, I'd like to try and make it up to you."

Morey got to his paws and shook himself off. "This is some damp grotto," he said. "I'm up for anything."

"Well, it seems that only purebred dogs are allowed to even exist around here I'm a purebred bulldog, so maybe I could go out, reconnoiter a bit, possibly catch a squirrel or a rabbit..."

Morey barked a laugh. "Woodrow, when is the last time you actually caught a squirrel or a rabbit?"

"Well, I..."

"Let's try NEVER," Morey stated flatly. "When Socrates the squirrel fell into the lake, who jumped in to save him, Woodrow?"

"Well, I..."

"You would be more likely to try discussing philosophy with a squirrel or a rabbit than you would be to grab it, shake it, and finally snap its little neck."

"My Dog!" cried Dr. Daisy. "Are you some sort of psycho?"

"I don't know, Daze," said Morey. "You tell me. You're the psychiatrist."

"All right," said Woodrow, holding up a paw. "I get the tug on the leash, and you're right, Morey. I may look mean, but I'm no hunter."

"Well, I am," Morey told him, "and since it's dark outside, I'm willing to take the chance and go out looking for food in the woods."

"I'll go with you," Dr. Daisy stoutly volunteered.

"You will stay here," Morey insisted.

Her hackles rose again. "Why? Because I'm a girl? Not only do I have more college degrees than you can shake a tail at, buddy; I'm also a purebred Golden RETRIEVER. Does that tell you anything?"

"Not much. Have YOU ever caught a squirrel or a rabbit?" he asked her.

"No, but I can tell you which berries are edible and which aren't, and I know which grains will be the most nutritious and filling."

"You plan to retrieve grain, Daisy?" Woodrow wagged his tail while trying to hide a smile which threatened to all but undo him.

Morey abruptly sat down and licked his balls. "All right," he said, "we all go."

Story continued below...; 12:52 AM
LuLu said...: Story continued...

"You mean we'll hunt as a pack?" asked Woodrow. "That sounds very Jack London."

Morey cocked his eyebrow again. "Yeah, Woodrow, the three of us will hunt as a pack."

"Perhaps we could catch some fish?" suggested Dr. Daisy. "Fish have such wet personalities. Anyway, they're not mammals. I think I might be able to catch and eat a fish."

"So much for the survival of the fittest," muttered Morey, giving his balls a final lick before rising to face the inevitable. "Come on, you two. There's a full moon out there, and I don't smell any bloodhounds around. It ought to be a nice, easy lope straight down to the beach...and prey."

"Prey?" Dr. Daisy shuddered.

"Maybe we'll find a discarded cheeseburger," Woodrow suggested hopefully.

"With all those trans fats?" Dr. Daisy shuddered anew.

"Keep quiet!" snapped Morey, not that it did any good.

They were almost to the lake, when the trio came to a dead halt. Directly ahead of them stood a form -- a huge, dark and hairy form.

Morey gave a strangled bark. "L-L-Leander?"

The form moved forward and sat. "Who in thunder are you three?" it barked in an upper-biscuit British accent. "Well?"

Morey automatically took the lead. "We're lost," he said. "We're three dogs who aren't from around here, and we're lost and we're hungry."

The big dog growled menacingly. "Lost, you say? Are you aware that you're trespassing on private property?"

"That's not a public beach eight paw prints in front of us?" asked Morey, standing his ground in spite of a grumbling stomach and knees weak from hunger.

"It certainly is not! I allow the doggery to use my property during the day, but at night I'm the only dog allowed to run here," the massive canine informed him. "The good news is, you've already set off my silent alarms, and the police will be arriving any minute."

"Oh, please!" yelped Dr. Daisy. "We didn't mean to trespass! What Morey just told you is true. We're lost! You bark like a gentleman. Please show us a little compassion."

The huge animal lowered his head and peered closely at Daisy. "My! Aren't you the pretty thing? A purebred Golden, from the look of you, and obviously of excellent stock."

Morey perked his ears. He could hear the wail of sirens approaching. "Woodrow here is a purebred bulldog," he blurted, "and I'm a purebred elohssa."

"A what?" asked his reluctant host.

"A very rare breed. My relatives all live in Lapland."

"This is a most unusual situation," allowed the large dog in command, "but since we are of the same social class, so to speak, at least all of noble parentage, I can't allow the police to simply mow you down before I've heard the entire story, can I? Of course I can't. Now follow me."

Seconds later six squad cars pulled into the parking lot next to the lake, and a score of officers disgorged, their flashlights handy and their guns drawn.

But Morey and his friends were already padding along an enclosed private pathway, at the end of which stood the largest and most ornate doghouse any of them had ever seen.

Story continued next Friday...; 1:18 AM
LuLu said...: Forgive me, but I had to quickly take over for Morey the Mutt, who was complaining of carpal paw.; 1:19 AM
Anonymous said...: "THAT is a doghouse?" arfed Woodrow to Morey. "Why the place is lit up like the Queen's kennel, and there must be forty rooms inside that mansion!"

"Fifty, actually," provided their host. "The servants' quarters are rather small, I'm afraid, but they're all mixed breeds, and since I feed them very well, they can't snarl about it too much."

"You have a lovely home," Dr. Daisy complimented. "I especially like the way the grillwork has been shaped to look like fire hydrants. Terribly imaginative."

"I pride myself on having a piquant sense of humor," the huge canine barked with a wink, followed by an appreciative inhalation of Daisy's girlish aroma.

"Exactly who are you?" Morey was bold enough to ask, and to his relief, he received a perfectly civil reply instead of a chomp in the throat.

"Why, I'm Sir Wellington Molosser," the big dog responded. "If you're from anywhere around these parts, you're bound to have heard of me. I'm the largest landowner and most important dog in the county."

"You must be," Daisy gushed, obviously impressed. "Your house looks like a Victorian palace, and the grounds are beautiful too. Just acres and acres of grass."

"All filled with delectable goose poop, rabbit turds, squirrel dunk and duck drops, lovely lady. You can roll to your heart's content."

"What's in that little shed over by the swimming pool?" Morey asked him. "It looks like it's ready to fall down."

Sir Wellington tore his gaze away from Daisy's shapely form. "Oh, that's where my people live," he replied. "I realize the place is an eyesore, but by law they have to live here and provide for me. I let them stay in the cellar for a while, but it didn't work out. They were noisy and smelly, and the servants started to complain. That's when I moved them into the old tool shed. Reconverted it, naturally. Put in a sink and a toilet. Dog knows we don't want them pooping on the lawn -- now do we?"

Story continued below....; 12:58 AM
Anonymous said...: Daisy giggled. Woodrow stared in awe, and Morey fought to keep his hackles from rising. He wondered what the Sade had up her harness this time. Whenever they had luck on their side, Morey knew good and well that it wouldn't last for long.

"Please come in, come in," their host encouraged, and the little band padded across a large arched porch and into an even larger hallway, containing a vast fireplace, over which hung a large oil portrait of a dog who looked a good deal like Sir Wellington.

"My great-grandfather, Plantagenet Molosser," he woofed with reverence. "The finest English Mastiff ever born, and the founder of our line."

Dr. Daisy stretched out on a well-chewed Aubusson rug and gave a sigh of contentment. "Oh, this is so much better than that awful cave. I could stay here all night."

"And so you shall!" insisted Sir Wellington, "but you needn't sleep in the hallway, my dear. I'll have the servants prepare some rooms for you and your friends, make up the pens, that sort of thing. First let's have some food!"

"I think I've died and gone to Dog Park," murmured Daisy, resting her pretty head on her forepaws and wagging her feathery tail.

"WELLINGTON!"

Every dog in the hallway came to attention.

Coming down a stairway the length of a freeway onramp was a large bitch with her hackles up. "Wellington, who are these DOGS?"

"Ah, Ente," he barked. "These are some old, old friends of mine. Known 'em for years type of thing. They just happened by and I invited them to spend the night."

"WHAT? Who ARE they and what are their names? Who are their ancestors and how many champions are their in their current lines?"

Sir Wellington got down into the play position and barked a laugh. "Ente, one thing at a time, if you please. I'll let my friends, uhm, introduce themselves, starting with this handsome bulldog here..."

The handsome bulldog gave paw. "I'm Woodrow," he said, "and I'd like to present my friend Dr. Daisy, a Golden retriever."

"I can tell she's a Golden, you fool!" growled the bitch, giving Dr. Daisy a look meant to freeze her marrow.

"Last and least," said Sir Wellington, "we have an elohssa."

"A WHAT?" she demanded. "I've never heard of the breed. Are you AKC?"

"I'm LKC, and the name's Morey. My ancestors are all from Lapland."

"And this," said Sir Wellington, wagging his tail at the bitch now standing by his side, "is my cousin and cratemate, Entlebucher Sennenhund, also known as Ente. She can be a lot of fun once you get to know her."

Story to be continued...; 1:22 AM
LuLu said...: Early the next morning Morey awakened as refreshed as only a dog who has slept in a feather bed can be refreshed.

The pen in which he found himself was enormous -- large enough to sleep two Sir Wellingtons and a baby elephant, and it was strewn with meaty bones, Greenies and tennis balls.

Morey was about to leave the pen, when the pet door to his room popped open, and a poodle mix padded in to ask what he would like for breakfast.

"I highly recommend the Science Diet, sir," he yapped, "but we also have pancakes and sausage for the more daring palate."

Morey opted for the pancakes and sausage.

"If you would care to refresh yourself, sir," went on the server dog, "you'll find the balcony adjoining this room is covered with crabgrass. Now, if you don't need anything else, I'll be back in a Frisbee with your breakfast."

Taking the serving dog's suggestion, Morey availed himself of the facilities, and then sat down on a well-chewed, but priceless Chinese rug, and glanced out the window.

Dr. Daisy and Sir Wellington were sporting on the lawn -- that is to say, they were chasing balls together, and seemed wholly wrapped up in one another.

How pretty Daisy looked, thought Morey. And how very happy.

He wished he could make her look that happy.

When the serving dog returned with Morey's breakfast, he brought Woodrow with him, and set down bowls for both of them in front of the window, where a soft breeze was stirring.

"Sir Wellington asks that you join him and Dr. Daisy on the lawn whenever you're ready," he said. "Bone appetite, gentlemen."

"This time I'm almost convinced that we've died and wound up in Dog Park," commented Woodrow, as they chowed down. "We finally found the best of all dimensions, or so it would appear."

Morey wasn't so certain. "Keep in mind, old buddy mine, that we were sent here by the Sade. When is the last time she did something genuinely nice for us? For that matter, when was the FIRST time?"

"Some days," said Woodrow, lapping up the last of his sausage and maple syrup, "some days you just have to be an optimist, Morey."

Morey barked a wry laugh. "Sorry, buddy, but I'm a street dog. I know good and well that there's always some mean mutt with sharper teeth than mine waiting for me in an alley somewhere."

But when he heard the sound of Daisy's merry barking, he couldn't repress a grin and a tail wag.

Story continued below...; 12:24 AM
Anonymous said...: "Gentlemen, welcome!" woofed Sir Wellington a few minutes later, when Morey and Woodrow came padding across the lawn. Even Daisy looked happy to see them, thought Morey, although he doubted she was swishing that feathery tail of hers around like a rich girl's boa on their account.

"Daisy and I have been playing tag the ball," explained their host unnecessarily, "and this little lady really knows her stuff."

Daisy batted her long lashes in her handsome host's direction. "Oh, Wells, I'm so out of practice."

"Nonsense, my dear, you're a natural."

"WELLINGTON!"

"Ah," said their host, "I believe I hear my cousin's melodic bark."

Morey saw Daisy's hackles rise, and sent her a wink, which she ignored.

Sir Wellington's imposing cousin Ente came charging across the lawn, trailed by a plump and sweating human male, who looked a little like a certain orange tabby cat Morey had known back in Lincoln Park.

"Great Dog, it's our whisperer," said Sir Wellington. "I wonder what he can want."

Morey glanced at Woodrow, who hung his head slightly. Here it comes, thought Morey, and Woodrow knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Wells!" cried the human tabby cat, spreadking his stubby arms as wide as he was able. "Here, boy! How about a lick?"

"Oh, pooper-scooper it, Harvey!" Sir Wellington shot back. "Where do you think you are -- on 'Oprah'? What the kennel are you doing here?"

"I asked him to come over," snapped his cousin, staring hard at Dr. Daisy -- the light of battle in her eye.

"What the dog pound for?" asked Sir Wellington.

"Ente was concerned, Wells, about these, uhm, strange dogs you've taken under your paw." He smiled at Dr. Daisy, who growled.

"There's nothing strange about them, Harvey. The three of them are purebreds just like I am, they're old friends, and their presence makes ME very happy."

Now it was Entlebucher Sennenhund's turn to growl, while Dr. Daisy got into the play position and nudged her host with her golden head.

"I can see that both the bulldog and the, ah, lady come from good stock, Wells," conceded the tabby-cat person. "Absolute A-one, I would say. Uh, but what about this other fellow?"

Morey wagged his tail, while wondering how fast he could make it across the lawn and over the surrounding wall. He had to paw it to the Sade -- at least she was consistent.

Story continued next week...; 12:41 AM
LuLu said...: I know...I know. I had to get my arf in again. Woof. It's my blog, live with it~; 12:49 AM
Anonymous said...: That is okay lulu.; 1:26 AM

LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

: Name: LuLu

I am a single five-year-old female Beagle, shown here by myself, while my mix-up of a sister sings the praises of mutts on my blog. Well, let her. I have a most intriguing (one might even say lascivious) past, at least according to my autobiography. In a former lifetime I was Queen Elizabeth the Ist of England, and later on (among others) I was Nell Gwynn, Pauline Borghese, Louise Brooks, and eventually just lovable, neurotic, adorable ME. I have a perfectly charming, albeit very annoying, sister named Sadie. She's rarely plagued by conscience, possibly because she's a Sagittarius. To date she has attempted to steal most of my boyfriends, meaning we're quite used to fighting over bones. Sadie and I are the same age, although she's the adopted one. We do have a fair amount of things in common. For example, she was once Mary Queen of Scots, and later on both Barbara Villiers and Marlene Dietrich. Amazingly we get along -- at least when we're before the public~

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LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

Friday, January 19, 2007

9 Comments:

LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

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